Spin
by Court81981
Summary: Katniss Everdeen has never bothered with the gym. But when she takes her first spin class, instructor Peeta Mellark gives her a workout in more ways than one. Part 1 written for ILoVeRynMar in honor of her birthday; Part 2 written for Prompts in Panem, Day 6, Sloth. Cover by Ro Nordmann.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note...**In honor of ILoVeRynMar's birthday (8.11)…I offer her this humble gift of smut that spiraled out of control like most things I write. It is because of this lovely woman and her encouragement and support that I am even part of this fandom, and I am eternally grateful. And yeah, I'm gonna be cheesy and say I could live 1000 lifetimes and not deserve how awesome she is to me. Happy birthday, my dear._

_Thanks to streetlightlove, HGRomance and Pookieh for prereading and offering their sage advice. And famousfremus...thanks for not shaming me over our shared love for dirty gif hunting. _

_The gif that…uh…inspired this story (and it is inspiring to say the least) can be found on streetlightlove's tumblr. Go follow her…why? Because she's awesome. Enough said._

_I own nothing of significance. _

* * *

"I can't see the clock from here," Katniss grouses as she adjusts the seat on the spin bike and then gives the handlebars a firm tug to be sure they are locked into position. Johanna smirks at her as she drapes two towels over the top of the bike.

"That's exactly why I choose this bike every time. If you can't see the clock you can't be tempted to peek every five minutes and wonder when the torture is going to end."

Katniss straightens and shoots her friend a wary look. "You know, Jo, you keep alluding to pain and torture and I'm starting to think whatever sadistic pleasure you get out of this stupid class it's not for me."

Johanna grins and climbs onto the spin bike, sliding her feet into the pedals and fastening the straps around them. "You burn six hundred fucking calories in a good fifty minute class, Brainless. It's worth the agony when you can knock back a few cocktails at Happy Hour on Friday and not feel an ounce of guilt." She motions to Katniss's bike. "Be sure you adjust the pedals and fit them snugly over your sneakers. You don't have spin shoes so you want to be sure your feet don't go flying out of the pedals. I've seen it happen." She mock-shudders and begins to circle her legs.

"You're not making me regret this any less," she grumbles, placing her hands on her hips defiantly. Running on the track or using the stationary bikes and treadmills had been the extent of her experience at the gym in college. And since she graduated, she'd had not the slightest inclination to join one. But Johanna went religiously, and when she had gleefully waved her 'one-week's-free' guest pass in Katniss's face last Sunday and told her now she had no excuse not to try a few classes, Katniss reluctantly relented.

"Maybe he'll make you regret it less," Jo smirks again, nodding towards the doorway of the spin studio. Katniss twists and glances in the direction Johanna has gestured towards, and she fights to contain any obvious reaction to the incredibly attractive man who loiters there talking amiably with two older women. His hair is the color of ripe summer wheat, falling in slightly messy curls across his forehead, and his skin is sun-kissed, no doubt the result of hours spent outside, but with no visible tan lines on his muscled arms, he must do so shirtless. Katniss feels her mouth go dry as he lifts his eyes and met her gaze. Even with several yards between them, she sees the piercing blue of his irises and the appraising look that he gives her causes an immediate fluttering below her abdomen.

She diverts her eyes quickly and pretends to adjust her water bottle in the holder below the handlebars. "Who's that?" she asks, hoping she sounds nonchalant and indifferent.

Johanna grins wickedly. "That's the reason these bikes are all filled and ninety percent of this class will be female. Peeta. He's the instructor."

Katniss darts her gaze back at the blond man who continues to chat in the front of the room, now with several more age-appropriate girls. She snickers to herself at the doe-eyed looks that the girls give him and notices that each one of them is fully made up and decked out in coordinating outfits. Katniss is lucky to have brushed her hair before she wound it into a tight braid, and her own sports bra and tank top probably clash, but she didn't think a workout was supposed to be a beauty contest. It would have been nice if Johanna had warned her that the instructor was some kind of fucking Norse god.

"You gonna get on that bike, Everdeen, or you gonna let that puddle of drool under you get wider?"

She scowls at Johanna as the lights dim, the fans above her head whir to life, and she hears the audible click of a microphone. Peeta attaches a little pack to his bike shorts and slips on a headset. "Okay, everyone, welcome back to my favorite hour of the week, Thursdays, 6:30 pm because I get the honor of watching you beautiful people sweating your asses off and having fun doing it—"

"I can think of a much better way to spend an hour getting sweaty with him," Johanna whispers loudly, and Katniss glares at her, though she can't deny she just had the exact same thought. As much as she tries to suppress it, there is something about this guy that has instantly unnerved her. Sure, she has been going through a dry spell that rivals the Sahara Desert and to be fair, she's done nothing to alleviate it. She has seen plenty of hot guys on the street or in the local Starbucks recently. So what makes this one so special?

"We'll get started in a few minutes; if you haven't already gotten your bike ready or grabbed a few towels, last call." As he fiddles with an iPod, he scans the room. "Any beginners out there who need help setting up a bike, just raise your hand and I'll gladly come assist you."

"She's new," Johanna calls, raising a hand above her head and to Katniss's horror, she points vehemently at Katniss. Peeta smiles broadly and sets down the iPod, and Katniss's pulse quickens as he weaves his way through the labyrinth of bikes to where she stands. He clicks off his microphone as he pauses beside her.

"Johanna, good to see you again." Then he turns to Katniss and extends a hand. She swallows and accepts it; his grip is firm but gentle, and her eyes wander to the perfectly sculpted bicep that contracts as he pumps her palm a few times. "I'm Peeta. Peeta Mellark. Welcome to the class."

"Uh, Katniss, um, Everdeen. Hi," she replies, and those impossibly blue eyes twinkle at her.

"I can't say I've heard that name before. It's beautiful."

"Um, thanks." She feels a flush rising and hopes it's simply because the studio is a little warm.

"So first time, huh?" He grins and crosses his arms across his chest. She nods and allows her eyes linger on the slope of his broad shoulders, wondering what other incredible muscle tone he's hiding beneath the sleeveless Under Armour shirt. "Did Johanna explain to you how to adjust your seat and your handlebars?" She nods again, and his grin widens. "Okay, so you're halfway there. You'll want to climb on and get yourself settled in the saddle. Remember it's not like a regular ten-speed or anything, so you're not looking to sit fully over the seat."

She inhales and straddles the bike, slipping her feet into the pedals and as she leans down to secure the straps around her sneakers, Peeta squats between her bike and Johanna's to help her. She says a silent prayer of thanks that she had worn a skirt to work and thus had hastily shaved her legs in the shower that morning. He gives each a little yank and smiles approvingly. "Okay, you're tight there. Go ahead and stand up in the saddle and be sure it feels comfortable."

Mildly flustered by his choice of words, she follows his directions and rises onto the pedals, and she frowns at the bouncy sensation. Her expression must amuse Peeta because he chuckles softly. "Again, different from a real bike. You'll get used to it. You're in second position right now." She tries to focus on his instructions and not his incredibly handsome face as he explains how to place her fingers on the handle but not to grip it and shows her how to 'walk it out' to third. Her head is starting to swim with the little details but with a wary peek around the room, she convinces herself if these vapid looking girls and old ladies can figure it out, she should be okay. She's athletic and a fast learner, after all.

"Katniss?"

She jumps lightly and the pedals bounce and Johanna stifles a snort beside her. Peeta smiles at her expectantly and Katniss knows her cheeks are a bright pink now. But he doesn't flinch and waits for her to sit back down as he points out the dial below the handlebars and offers a short demonstration on resistance. "I'll be constantly telling you guys to reach down and add it on throughout the ride. Sometimes it will be a half-turn, sometimes you'll need to turn it a few times, but be sure that when I give you the signal or command to take it all off that you do it or else the next part of the ride will be far more grueling than it should be." He winks at her, and again, her mind trips over something he said: '_take it all off.'_ God is she really that fucking horny that she can't keep her brain from turning innocent suggestions into double entendres? Or is he just that hot?

"Brainless, pay attention!" Johanna barks, and for the third time, Katniss blushes and has the urge to murder Johanna for using that stupid nickname.

"Sorry," she apologizes to Peeta. "I, uh, had a case today that I've been worrying about and I zoned out." She's pleased that the lie falls so easily from her lips, and Peeta's blond brows dip in concern.

"You're a lawyer?"

She can't tell if he sounds impressed or aghast, but she smiles nonetheless. "Social worker, actually."

Johanna snickers. "Hey, Ponyboy, I'm glad you're hitting it off with my friend here, but some of us came here to workout and not to flirt."

Katniss drops her eyes to her water bottle, but as Peeta makes his way back to the bike in the front of the studio, she thinks she notices a darker red staining his tanned cheeks. He switches the microphone back on, fiddles with the iPod again and suddenly the resounding toll of AC/DC's "Hells Bells" booms through the room. An easy grin dominates his face as he mounts his bike and calls out a litany of commands. "Give it a few turns and bring it up to second," he finishes, and Katniss glances around to see what the others do. She raises her eyes and meets Peeta's gaze, and he reaches down on his bike to discreetly offer her assistance. Turning the dial a few times, she braces her feet and rises onto the pedals. He grins and nods, and that mild fluttering migrates through her stomach, threatening to bloom to a full-blown swarming. God he is impossibly sexy. It should be illegal to be that confident and self-assured.

Peeta is full of energy—no one can deny that. He hardly breaks a sweat as he guides them through the ride, and though Katniss finds herself sweating profusely and her legs start to burn by about twenty minutes in, she's pleasantly surprised that she's enjoying herself.

She's just thinking that he has great taste in music after a Beatles tune follows songs by the Foo Fighters and the Black Keys when the opening notes of some boy band hit from a few years back seep through the speakers. She wrinkles her nose in disgust and catches the wide grin on Peeta's face.

"Okay, who got a hold of my iPod and put this into my playlist?" He points to an elderly woman on the spin bike directly in front of us. "Mags, was it you? Don't you try and hide it! I know you were a Justin Timberlake groupie when you were younger!"

Katniss rolls her eyes but can't keep the smile of her own lips as he teases the woman, who easily looks to be in her seventies and probably was one of Frank Sinatra's conquests rather than a closet N*Sync fan.

"Well in any case," Peeta continues, "Let's make the most of this pop garbage and jump it out. Four count jumps, keep up if you can." His eyes land directly on Katniss as he begins to rise out of the saddle, pedals a few times and returns to his seat. "Those of you who feel more comfortable, feel free to grab a drink and stay in first for the duration of JT and company."

Katniss swallows and glances over at Johanna, who rises and sits in perfect tempo with Peeta's motions. She takes a long sip of her water, swallows and tries to mimic what Peeta is demonstrating, 'jumping' out of the saddle in rhythm with the beat of the pop song. She's a bit off at first, taking one full chorus to get her bearings, but she's happy that she manages not to make a total ass of herself by the time the song ends and the thumping bass of Kid Rock drowns out her heavy breathing.

She prides herself on only darting glances up at the clock twice, and finally Peeta announces it's time to cool down and he starts to walk them through a series of stretches on their bikes. Her mouth is dry as cotton, but her water bottle is empty. He raises his right arm above his head and grips his elbow; the tight cords of the muscles strain and she imagines how easily those strong arms must support his weight when he's hovering above a woman, thrusting into her.

A flush heats her cheeks and creeps down her neck and she fumbles for the towel on the handlebars, patting the terrycloth along her fevered skin. Beads of sweat stipple the valley between her breasts, and she feels the perspiration that's gathered under the curve of each as well as beneath her armpits, dampening her sports bra. She straightens on the bike and keeps toweling off, letting her legs cycle more slowly, but she drapes the towel behind her neck and leans forward to remove the rest of the resistance on the bike when she notices most of the rest of the class doing so.

"Don't forget to take off your resistance and return your bikes to their zero settings, guys," Peeta calls, reaching for a towel of his own. "And please wipe down the seats and handlebars before you go. Thanks for choosing my humble little workout. I do this every Thursday evening and every Monday morning at six-thirty if you care to wake up with me too."

"Wouldn't you rather wake up _next_ to him?"

Katniss glances over at Johanna, who wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Johanna snorts and hops off the bike at Katniss's expression, striding to the front of the room to grab two wipes from the dispenser. She thrusts one at Katniss. "C'mon Everdeen. I saw the way you gawked at him when he was stretching at the end of the session. His fucking body is like a temple, huh?"

"Shut up, Johanna," she hisses when she senses Peeta staring at them from the elevated platform where his bike is. She looks down quickly and busies herself disinfecting the seat.

"I'd get down on my knees for him. I bet you would too."

"Shut up!" She gives the seat one more pass with the towelette and moves up to swipe the handlebars. She's not going to give Johanna the satisfaction of knowing just how easily the handsome blond instructor has gotten under her skin and into her own fantasies.

They leave the bikes, throw out the wipes, and toss the towels into the provided bin near Peeta. Katniss gives him a shy smile, but just as she inhales and steels her nerves to engage him in a conversation—might as well start by thanking him, right?—two giggling blondes approach him and to her dismay, his eyes leave hers as he gives them that sexy smile and disheartened, Katniss spins on her heel and leaves the studio without another glance at him.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Johanna calls, and Katniss feels her friend's surprisingly strong grip on her right elbow. She shakes it off and shrugs, walking across the hall to the water fountain to fill her water bottle. "Are you not going to talk to Goldilocks?"

"He was busy," she replies bluntly. "And I'm starving."

Johanna rolls her eyes. "When are you not hungry? You're lucky your metabolism is like a fucking hummingbird's." She twists and glances back into the spin studio. "Are you really not going to talk to him?"

"Yes, really." To prove her point, she stalks off up the corridor towards the front of the gym, and Johanna jogs to catch up with her.

"This is why you're single, you know. You never put yourself out there or take a risk."

Katniss spins and plants her hands on her hips. "Johanna, guys like him don't give girls like me a second look. Just drop it, okay?"

* * *

But it's Katniss who can't drop it. Peeta lingers on her mind all day Friday, and she finds herself doing the unthinkable—she drives back to that gym after work and signs up for a membership of her own.

She curses when the alarm rings at five minutes to six on Monday morning, but then she remembers why she set it so goddamn early. She springs out of bed and dresses for the gym, trying not to think about how today she lingers in front of her drawer a little longer, searching for a tank top that will complement her teal sports bra. And she pretends not to notice that she actually uses a hairbrush when she gathers her thick, dark tresses into a ponytail. And no, that's not a light sweeping of mascara that she whisks over her lashes and a thin layer of rosy gloss gleaming on her lips. Nope.

Every red light mocks her as she drives, and she pulls into the parking lot with only six minutes to spare before Peeta's six-thirty class begins. She grabs her water bottle and shoves her keys into her small bag. She sprints through the automatic doors and holds up her key tag, the chirp alerting the desk clerk that she's a member. The bubbly little blonde girl gives her a bright smile and Katniss's first thought is that she is _way_ too fucking chipper for this early in the morning—on a Monday, no less!

She speed-walks down the corridor to the spin studio and freezes in the doorway, her jaw plunging downward, and she hastily tries to regain her composure. Every single bike is already taken. Her eyes flit to Peeta, who is also already on his bike, speaking into his headset with that lazy, sexy smile tugging at his mouth. She swallows as her mortification wells, and just as she pivots on her heel to leave, Peeta glances over and their eyes meet. His smile widens initially, but almost as quickly, he registers her dilemma and before she can be thoroughly humiliated, she hastens back down the corridor, fighting her mounting disappointment.

"Leaving so soon?" the blonde pipes up as Katniss races towards the doors.

"Ah….uh…yeah, the, um, class was full, I guess," she stammers, rooting for her keys in her bag.

"Oh, you must have been looking to spin this morning, huh?" The blonde grins knowingly. "Yeah, tickets for Peeta's classes are gone the minute I set them out."

"Tickets?" Katniss echoes, confused. Johanna never mentioned tickets. She searches her memory and vaguely recalls Johanna hanging something from the front knob on both their bikes. She hadn't given it much thought last Thursday.

The girl fans out an array of laminated purple passes. "These are for the eight am. We put them out thirty minutes before the scheduled class. It's first come, first serve. Peeta's easily our most popular instructor." She grins dreamily. "And he's the best one too. If only he could do all our spin classes."

"Oh, well, thanks for the information. I guess I learned not to be late for class."

"There's an Attack class that starts in fifteen minutes in Studio C. Kind of modified kickboxing. Clove runs a tough workout, but the results are amazing." The girl glances at Katniss. "Not that you really need it." She consults the screen. "And after the eight am spin we—"

"Yeah, I have to be at work by eight-thirty. Thanks anyway."

She spends the rest of her morning filing paperwork on a few recently closed cases, trying not to let her mind wander to those blue eyes.

* * *

She'll be damned if she's going to get up at five-thirty in the morning for a class that's not taught by one Peeta Mellark, but she feels compelled to show up and try another instructor as if to prove that she wasn't just there on Monday for the stunning blond man. Which she was—but no one has to know that.

Unfortunately for her, she chooses the six-thirty pm on Tuesday, which offers another blond instructor, but he's a far cry from Peeta. Cato is a hulking force who barks commands at them over pulsing techno music, and the ride sequence is punishing and grueling. Katniss's lungs gasp for air at the end of the fifty-minute torture, and each breath is like swallowing fire. Her water bottle is completely empty, and when she finally hops down from her bike to grab a wipe to clean it properly, her legs are gelatinous and struggle to support her weight.

No wonder there were so many empty bikes.

She makes a mental note to avoid spin class on Tuesday nights.

* * *

Wednesday she fully intends to skip the gym and just go for a run after work.

But the weather has other ideas. Around three o'clock, she is seated at her desk, picking at the remnants of an apple-cinnamon muffin and playing _Candy Crush_ on her phone when a clap of thunder shakes the building and she peers out the window behind her to see a torrent of rain unleashed from the swollen, bruised sky.

The storm persists throughout her drive home; the relentless deluge eventually slows to a steady downpour, but it effectively quells any desire she has to jog outside.

Exasperated but still craving a workout, she throws on her running gear, plaits her hair into a braid and heads back into the rain to drive to the gym.

Many of the treadmills are occupied when she arrives, but she locates a free elliptical machine that faces a television tuned to ESPN. After adjusting the settings and punching in her access code, she begins moving with an easy cadence, intending to work up to a more rigorous pace once she's accustomed to it.

While she cycles, she looks around the vast, open area and engages in a little bit of people watching. She's just started studying a tall, dark-haired man who is easily bench-pressing three or four times his own body weight when something catches her eye out of her peripheral vision. The machine beside hers beeps, and she sees the flash of flaxen hair before her eyes land on that chiseled face.

That lazy, sexy grin is directed right at her. "Hi. Katniss, right?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She struggles to return his smile as she winces at her ratty t-shirt and the leggings that might still have a tomato sauce stain on the right thigh, and she can't remember if any of her makeup from work is still visible. She probably looks like hell. How did she not consider that if he works here that he might _work out_ here too?

"Hi, um, Peeta," she finally says. She know it probably sounds like she was searching for his name, which is laughable because her one-track mind has done nothing but chant it incessantly since last Thursday. His grin widens, his mouth parting to reveal two rows of gleaming white. Between the halo of golden curls and the blinding teeth, she practically needs sunglasses to properly admire him.

"So they sucked you in, huh?"

She blinks. "Excuse me?"

He smiles sheepishly. "You must have gotten a membership since last week. Your friend told me that you were here as a guest with her. And now you're here alone."

"You asked Johanna about me?"

"I might have," he says evasively, but his tone is playful. He punches at the controls and increases his speed, but he keeps his blue gaze leveled on her, and she grows increasingly flustered under his stare. She desperately tries to think of something to say, a conversation starter, but she's never been good with words or flirting and so like an idiot, she remains mute. Embarrassed, she averts her eyes and looks up at the television where two sports pundits are arguing impassionedly about some football player.

She's disappointed when Peeta doesn't initiate a discussion, but she figures her own lack of response to his revelation that he had asked her friend about her might have effectively sent the wrong message—that she's not interested. He moves fluidly on the machine next to her, an iPod in the right cup holder, its ear buds dangling precariously. His own eyes are now trained on the television she had just been staring at.

The humming of the surrounding treadmills and their two ellipticals mingles with the clatter of the weights and the drone of casual chatter, and she feels her heartbeat accelerating rapidly the longer Peeta remains beside her. She has no idea how much time passes before he presses a button and his machine progressively slows. When he reaches for his water bottle and tilts his neck back to take a prolonged sip from it, her eyes are drawn to the column of his throat when he swallows and she has the passing urge to drag her tongue along the skin and trace the strong line of his jaw before kissing him senseless.

"I guess I'll see you around then." His honeyed voice interrupts her fantasy, and he slings his towel over his broad shoulders as he finishes cleaning the machine and moves to leave.

"Wait!" she calls impulsively, smacking at her own machine to cease its movement. The sudden stop causes her to lurch, and he moves swiftly to place his arm around her waist so she doesn't tumble off the pedals. Her pulse spikes and she has to swallow reflexively at how his hand feels on the curve of her hipbone and how close their bodies are. "Thanks," she murmurs shyly, dropping her eyes. "No one ever accused me of being graceful."

He laughs softly. "There's a reason you're not supposed to stop cold on these things." He releases her and stares down at her expectantly. She clears her throat; she may have called for him to wait, but with him looking at her, those bewitching blue eyes boring right into her, she cannot for the life of her remember what she was going to say.

Fortunately, this time he breaks the silence and gives her a kind smile. "I'm sorry I missed you at my class Monday morning."

She sucks in a breath, hopefully discreetly so, and nods. "I, um, didn't know about the tickets. You're a very popular guy, huh?"

Is that a blush rising on his cheeks? He chuckles, and the gentle peals of his laughter are a balm to her nerves and she finally feels herself relax a little. "Yeah, I guess I am. I'd like to think it's because I run a good class."

"You have good taste in music," she supplies, though she knows damn well that's not the reason. "Well except for the N*Sync."

He feigns a wounded look. "No one wants to give Justin Timberlake any credit even with how far he's come?" She wrinkles her nose and he grins. "I like to keep the mood light in the middle of a really intense workout. A song like that usually does the trick."

Her traitorous mind seizes on the idea of another intense workout she'd like to experience with him when he rakes a hand through his damp curls and hesitates. "I, ah, was going to swing by the café upstairs and grab a quick bite. Did you want to join me?"

She's never even given a second glance to the café near the entrance, but the food could be moldy and inedible and the invitation to be in his company would still be too good to pass up. Besides, only the remnants of a cheesesteak from last night await her at home. "Sure." She feels a smile lift her lips when he beams at her.

"I don't normally eat here," he explains as they enter the little space and peruse the offerings laid out in the numerous refrigerated cases. "So I can't really tell you what's good. I've heard the soups are usually pretty decent." He gestures to the gloomy night that's descended faster than usual given the stormy conditions. "Might be a good choice tonight."

She nods in agreement and orders the white-bean chicken chowder when Peeta opts for it first. He also gets some kind of a protein smoothie, but she declines and sticks with her water. As she reaches into her gym bag for her wallet, he shakes his head emphatically at her. "No. I asked you up here, my treat."

"No way," she protests, grimacing when she finds only three dollars in her wallet.

Peeta holds up his gym ID and thrusts it at the girl behind the register. "You don't have a choice. " The girl smiles at him and scans the card. "You know you can use your ID to charge things to your account," he explains to her at her visible confusion when he exchanges no money with the cashier.

"Oh. I didn't know that, no," she replies. "Thank you."

He smiles. "My pleasure." He leads her to a small cluster of tables in front of a large plate-glass window, and while he crumbles a few Saltine crackers into his chowder, she idly watches a smattering of raindrops meander down the glass and merge into a large rivulet that slips out of her line of vision. "So, you said you were a social worker. That is a really tough job at times, yeah?" He licks the underside of his spoon, and she looks away quickly before she turns the innocent gesture into something erotic courtesy of her depraved, sex-starved imagination.

"At times, yes," she agrees, and with some gentle leading questions from him, she begins to open up and talk about her job, starting with how she got into social work in the first place. Peeta is an attentive listener, and she manages not to be overly distracted by the way his hair tousles naturally as it dries or the hypnotic motion of that chiseled jaw when he eats or drinks.

She reciprocates and asks him about himself, and she learns that he's applying to med school and has aspirations be a team physician for a professional sports team—he's not particular about what sport or what team, though he says each has its own trends in injuries and medical needs. He's taken a few courses on the brain and thus, football and hockey are particularly appealing with the increase in concussions. But for the time being, he works as a personal trainer and teaches the spin class for fun.

The conversation flows easily when they shift to discussions about favorite colors and bands and television shows, and she's secretly pleased to learn that they have so much in common—even if he is horrified that she's never seen a single episode of _Arrested Development. _She even more delighted when he promises he's going to change that.

And then they dance around the subject of significant others, but she thinks his eyes gleam when she reveals she's most certainly single at the moment, and he divulges he broke up with his girlfriend last December and though he's not as free with the details, he gives her the impression it was not a relationship that he was too sad to end.

The rain finally eases up and he gives a loud sigh. "I have an eight o'clock session. This lady is never on time, but I should get back downstairs so if she actually decides to be prompt for once, I'm there." His hand drifts across the table, but almost immediately, he pulls it back. "Thanks, Katniss, for joining me. It's nice not to eat alone."

"I hardly think you'd have trouble finding a dinner companion in this place," she replies with a nervous laugh as two leggy blondes walk by in expensive looking workout attire, blatantly ogling Peeta.

"Well I appreciated the company." He winks at her and clears his place, grabbing for her empty bowl and napkin as well. "Maybe I'll see you around? Say tomorrow at, I don't know, 6:30?"

"Is that a shameless promotion for your class?" she teases, and his eyes twinkle with mirth.

"You got me."

Her heart is still thundering in her ears when she starts her car and she's practically floating a few hours later when she slips into bed.

How can one guy make her feel like a giddy teenager—especially when she never acted like this when she _was_ a teenager?

* * *

She feels like a bit of a stalker doing so, but Katniss arrives at the gym at quarter to six the next afternoon and sits in her car until the clock reads 5:57, at which point she shuts off the engine, grabs her water bottle and dashes inside just as the male employee at the front desk is spreading out the orange tickets for Peeta's 6:30 class. She shamelessly plucks the top laminated pass from the pile and smirks at the bold, black number '1' marked in the upper right corner.

Peeta rewards her with that dangerously sexy smile of his when he walks into the studio at 6:15 and their eyes meet. She pedals confidently as she warms up, darting glances at him as he busies himself getting ready for the class. He goes through his usual greeting and at precisely 6:30 he starts the workout.

Whether it's from the extra effort she puts into her strides or the added resistance she loads on or the suggestive glances she thinks Peeta continues to secret in her direction, her heart races wildly and her pulse gallops through her veins and thus, she's utterly exhausted by the end of fifty minutes.

When Peeta announces cool down, the familiar strum of the Lumineers' "Stubborn Love" rises from the speakers, and Katniss hums along quietly, recalling how they both expressed their appreciation for the band, and in particular this song, just last night. As he begins talking them through stretching, she doesn't even bother to hide how her eyes follow the sinews of the muscles in his arms and the lines of his jaw as he speaks. With the sheen of perspiration on what shows of his chest, she can barely suppress the illicit thoughts she is having about him and what he must be like in bed. Her stomach swoops and a wetness that definitely is not just sweat dampens her panties.

After she wipes down her bike, she takes a deep breath, grabs her water bottle and prepares to approach him. She's not sure what exactly she'll say and her mind races with possibilities when a tall redhead jostles her elbow, slips past her and sidles up to Peeta, batting her mile-long eyelashes, promptly monopolizing his attention.

Katniss bites her lip and hovers near her bike for several moments, but as the striking girl drones on and Peeta's eyes remain fixed on her, Katniss deflates and slinks from the spin studio, disappointment coursing through her. Though her body wants to trudge towards the exit, her 'fight or flight' instinct has her legs moving swiftly. It's only when she reaches her car in the parking lot that it dawns on her that her keys are right where she placed them at the start of the class—underneath the spin bike she had eagerly chosen. Well, fuck.

Irritated by her own forgetfulness, she loiters near the front desk until a reasonable time has passed and she assumes that Peeta has exited the spin studio. She doesn't really want to barge back in and intrude on him flirting with the willowy redhead. What was she thinking? Her own words to Johanna from the very first class she took with Peeta taunt her: a guy like him could never want a girl like her, not with the wide assortment of beautiful women gaping at him and throwing themselves at him. How could she even think she could compete?

The studio lights are dim when she pushes open the door, but as she steps over the threshold, her body slams into a firm, unyielding but undeniably warm blockade. "Whoa," he whispers, and she leaps back, both startled and horrified by the rush of heat that floods her.

"I…I…" she stammers, her tongue crowding her mouth and paralyzing her speech.

He smiles triumphantly and holds up her keys. "You're looking for these."

She nods dumbly but makes no move to grab them. In the faint glow, his eyes look darker than usual, and there is something gleaming in them that is new and unfamiliar to her. He takes a step towards her, and instinctively, she backs up. He continues advancing upon her until he effectively has her pinned to the wall beside the closed door. Her senses kick into overdrive and she can smell the comingling aroma of sweat and spices—she definitely thinks she can make out cinnamon—emanating from him. "Thank you…I…um…must have forgotten them."

There's that lazy, sexy smile again, and it resonates directly between her legs as he leans down a bit closer to her. "Don't ruin my fantasy, Katniss," he chides, placing one hand above her on the wall, the other continuing to dangle her keys teasingly. "Let me go on thinking you left your keys under your bike on purpose, okay?"

Her breath hitches. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I _want _to think. That you deliberately forgot them so you could come back here and be alone with me." His tongue juts out to wet his lips and intuitively she moistens her own. The flick of her tongue must do something to him; he drops her keys to the floor, plants his hand on her hip and as his mouth slants over hers, she melts against the wall, her limbs liquid under the delicious weight of him. She kisses him back with equal passion, their mouths connecting hungrily. A needy moan escapes her when his tongue traces the seam of her lips and she parts them to welcome his intrusion.

His tongue plunders the warm crevices of her mouth, hesitantly gliding along the roof of her mouth before licking along her tongue to coax it to mate with his. She rises on her tiptoes and crushes her small frame against his, clawing at the nape of his neck with one hand. As their tongues wrestle and duel for dominance, she feels an inferno spreading through her jellied limbs and combusting into a smoldering fire in her belly. She has never wanted anything as much as she wants this man right now.

She utters a squeak of protest when his tongue retreats and his mouth detaches from hers, a thread of saliva snapping between them. Peeta pants softly, his placid blue eyes a wild, primal dark navy and one finger reaches out to map the curve of her lower lip. "I've wanted to do that since you first walked through that door a week ago."

Her eyes widen and she struggles to catch her breath. "Really?"

He nods. "Really. I couldn't stop thinking about you that night." He grins sheepishly. "I even thought about sending Johanna a message on Facebook to pump her for info on you. Lucky for me our paths crossed the next day and she was more than happy to tell me all about her very single, very available, very beautiful friend."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you either," she confesses softly as she cocks her neck to the left and permits his lips and teeth to worry the flesh there.

He draws back again, his face flushed with the evidence of his own want for her, and he looks incredulous. "Really? I didn't—"

Impulsively, she presses a finger firmly across his open lips, silencing him. "Later. Talk later," she mumbles, her voice rough with desire, and he groans, cradling her cheeks with his large hands, angling his face down to reclaim her mouth.

She mumbles, "God, it doesn't feel like it's only been a week and—"

His lips seize hers in a bruising kiss, and they're both wheezing for air when he releases her and smirks. "_You_ said no talking."

"I did." Their mouths fuse together again and his hands return to her waist; as he tugs her body flat against his, she whimpers softly as his erection comes into contact with her abdomen and she levers on her toes to attempt to grind against it. Peeta releases a growl and suddenly his strong hands are lifting her up, her back climbing the wall as he urges her to wrap her legs around his waist. He holds her in place as if she weighs nothing and resumes his assault on her lips.

She's never been kissed so thoroughly, so passionately, and the reaction that Peeta's expert mouth is spurring in her reminds her a little of being drunk—which isn't something she makes a habit of, but she fast feels herself losing control of her inhibitions—and she doesn't really care.

The jiggling of the doorknob startles them both, and Peeta's hands still, one on the small of her back, the other poised just below her left breast. Gently, he slides her back down until her feet find purchase with the floor, but as she does, she grazes the prominent bulge in his shorts. Seconds later the lights brighten and a cart wheels through the door first. Peeta exhales and gives her a look pregnant with irritation. "Janitor," he murmurs. "My class is the last spin of the night on Thursdays. And this place is diligent about cleaning." He swears and grits his teeth as he gives the janitor a polite little wave when he steps into the studio.

His hand laces through hers and he glances around, his brows furrowed in evident contemplation. "I'm sorry." Exhaling again, he rakes his free hand through his rumpled curls.

"Can we go somewhere?" she asks boldly, the persistent ache between her legs dominating her need for rational thought. Rubbing against him the way she did just moments ago did nothing to quell the fire in her core. His eyes round, and she bites her lip expectantly. "I really want you right now."

Peeta glances over at the janitor, who is mopping the floor in the rear corner of the room, either oblivious to their presence or dutifully ignoring it. He leans down and touches the tip of his nose to hers and gestures between them. "I really want you too. Let me think for a second…okay, it's not too romantic or anything but right across the hall is the big storage closet where they keep the yoga mats and stuff." He pauses thoughtfully again. "The last yoga class on Thursdays is over at seven. We should be good." Kissing the tip of her nose gently, he backs away and motions to his groin. "I kind of can't go out there right now. So you go and I'll meet you in there in a few minutes."

She nods, her pulse quickening, and she slips from the spin studio. There are only a few others in the hallway, most lingering outside the cardio studio to the right where a Zumba class starts at eight. Inconspicuously, Katniss shuffles across the hall and walks quickly down the narrow hall between the yoga and cardio rooms, where she indeed finds a large door. To her relief, it's unlocked and she slips inside.

Blinking rapidly in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the closet, her eyes scan stacks of yoga mats and larger gymnastic mats that create a kaleidoscopic maze in the center of the space, and Katniss perches on a fairly sturdy looking row of them. Spontaneously, she unties her sneakers and slides them off, balling up her socks and stuffing them inside. She's examining shelves of yoga blocks, resistance weights and medicine balls when her ears perk up at the door clicking. Peeta leans against the back of it, his fingers fumbling behind him to lock it securely, and when he's satisfied, he crosses to her in two quick strides and hauls her into his arms again.

His kisses are still insistent, but also slower and more experimental; with each stroke of his tongue, she feels the warmth kindling in her veins again and it emboldens her. As his mouth moves to worry the lobe of her ear, she allows her hands to begin their own exploration of his toned body. She reaches under the silky material of his shirt, her fingers trailing along the ridges of his abdominal muscles as her thumb gently tickles the fine hair below his navel. The need to see more of him causes her to roughly tug the hem of his shirt and he comprehends, nipping at her neck once more before releasing her so they can both drag the shirt up over his head.

She shakes her head in disbelief at just how well built he is—like some kind of statue. As she tugs her lip between her teeth and moves back towards him, he holds her in place with his hooded eyes. "Yours too. I want to see you." She glances down at her sweat-soaked sports bra and nods deliberately. It's not as easy to remove the restrictive garment, but when she does and the cool air hits her slick breasts, her nipples pucker and Peeta's eyes lower to take in the sight. The lazy, sexy smile that is so familiar to her now creeps onto his lips and he crooks his finger to coax her forward into his palms.

Her head snaps back at the first touch of his calloused thumbs circling the erect peaks, little bolts of current radiating from them to slither down her belly and pool between her thighs. She's always been self-conscious about her breasts, but she fits perfectly into his palms and he's touching her like she's some sort of clay, kneading and molding and testing. At the first tentative flick of his tongue over one aching bud, she moans and murmurs her approval, arching her back and mewling when he laves her breast more fully with the flat of his tongue before sucking the nipple into his mouth.

She writhes against the stacked mats as he showers her breasts with attention, clearly not put off by the lingering perspiration on them. Threading one hand through his wet hair encouragingly, she reaches down to cup him over the very obvious bulge in his shorts. He groans around her nipple, releasing her from his mouth to kiss a path down her flat stomach, swirling his tongue around her navel. His shift in position forces her to let go of him, and she realizes just how badly she wants to touch him—all of him—too.

Before she knows it, Peeta's hands have stilled on her hips, and he is watching her cautiously as he slowly works her damp bike shorts downward. She nods, her head spinning and her heart thundering as they pool around her feet. When she moves to kick them free, he warns her, "Don't lose sight of them. We should probably be prepared to redress quickly if we hear a key in that lock."

She stifles a laugh because she's been so enraptured by his talented mouth and hands that she nearly forgot that they were locked in a utility closet. The reminder does little more than fuel her adrenaline at the illicitness of it all, and she impatiently fumbles with his shorts until he helps her get them down to his knees before he steps out of them. He then hastily kicks off his double-knotted spin shoes, which he wears sockless.

"Fuck me," she breathes as her eyes dance along the hard, thick length protruding up from a thatch of golden curls.

"That's the idea," he whispers, drawing her flush against him, and they both moan at the contact between their naked, fevered bodies. Peeta's right hand meanders down between them until she feels his fingers part her wet folds and she bucks into his touch.

"Do you have—?"

He silences her with a kiss. "A condom? Yeah. I made sure to grab one from my gym bag."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You just keep them in your gym bag because…"

"I don't normally," he says softly. "I put one in there Tuesday after you ran out on Monday morning. I told you, I've been thinking about you nonstop. Call it wishful thinking."

His voice is so sincere, so reverent, that Katniss can think of no appropriate reply other than to lunge up on her toes and attack his mouth with hers. He reaches down to pull something from his spin shoes, and she sees a flash of foil as he produces the condom with a sheepish smile.

"It was the only place—"

"Don't care how it got there," she cuts him off, grabbing for the prophylactic and ripping the packet apart. "Can I?"

He nods earnestly, blue eyes shining under the raw fluorescent lighting. She unrolls the condom over his shaft, pinching the tip and glancing to him for approval. His only response is to lift her up as high as he can, settling her knees over the crook of his elbows. With his eyes focused on hers, he slides his hands to grip her just below her breasts as he slowly eases her down on his cock until he's fully sheathed inside her and they're both whimpering from the coupling. Katniss clutches at his broad shoulders with one hand while the other cups his jaw, urging him to connect their mouths while she begins to ride him. Their tongues mimic their bodies, and though she feels fuller than ever before, the stretch is a pleasurable one and she allows Peeta's thrusts to set the pace as he uses his arms to bob her up and down on him.

"Oh, god! Peeta," she cries, the dull ache in her abdomen spreading, tightening to a heated, spiraling sensation. He mumbles her name against her mouth and resumes kissing her, but she cries out, a sharp pain spreading across her back as the Velcro on the top-most mat scratches her.

Without missing a thrust, Peeta walks them over to a slightly lower stack of mats, ones that don't have the potentially perilous strips of Velcro on the sides, Katniss still bouncing on his cock as they move.

"You…are…incredible…" she gasps out as she feels her climax starting to crest. He sucks on her bottom lip and then soothes it with his tongue.

"I can't hold out much longer," he replies shallowly. He glances down briefly. "But I also can't touch you like this."

"S'okay." She keens as his cock catches her clit with his next plunge upward. "Oh, fuck…just like that. Again! Unhhh!"

"Katniss—"

"Go ahead, Peeta," she croons. "It's okay."

"Fuck," he cries, and she feels him pulse inside her, his pelvis rocking beneath her as his climax overwhelms him. "Oh, fuck, Katniss…" He buries his face in her neck and peppers the skin with open-mouthed kisses while he begins to soften inside her.

Carefully he sets her down, bracing one hand at the small of her back, and without even removing the condom, he crouches before her and she has to stifle a scream when his tongue sweeps through her lower lips and seeks out her throbbing clit. Her back bows over the top of the stacked mats as he latches on to the swollen nub and begins to suckle it eagerly then slows to lazy revolutions with his tongue. Her eyes close and her mouth falls open, incoherent sounds spilling forth.

"Good?" Peeta glances up, and her chest heaves as she struggles to keep her breathing under control.

"So good, keep going…please! Ah!"

He grins wickedly and recommences lapping at her arousal, snaking one hand around to gently cup her ass and bring her even closer to his mouth. Her skin feels as if it's on fire and her pulse thrums wildly, and when Peeta presses the tip of his tongue directly over the sensitive bundle of nerves, she comes undone, trembling and vibrating against his mouth. She's still quivering when he licks his lips and wipes at his chin and straightens to gather her into his strong arms. Sighing contentedly, she leans her head against his muscled chest, her lips quirking up at the erratic thump of his heart.

"I have to say…" She pauses to catch her breath again. "That was a more intense workout than your spin class. More fun too…no offense."

"Mmm…none taken," he laughs, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I'll take that workout anytime too."

"Is that an invitation?" She tosses him his shorts and he grins.

"An open-ended one…if you'll allow it."

The fluttering returns to her stomach. Even with what just transpired, she can't fathom how this impossibly hot, incredibly sexy, altogether perfect man wants anything to do with her. He steps forward and rubs his thumb along her cheekbone, and the gaze he gives her is so ardent, she can't think of a single reason she would ever deny Peeta Mellark anything.

She smiles. "I'll allow it."

* * *

On a Monday morning a few weeks later, the alarm blares at 5:30, and Katniss's arm flails out to smack it into silence. She burrows further under the covers before a strong arm curves around her waist and lures her body back against his.

"Five more minutes," she pleas, licking her chapped lips when she hears his soft chuckle and feels his cock stiffen fully against her ass.

"What, you think just because you don't need a ticket for my class now that you're sleeping with the instructor it means you can roll in late?" He clucks his tongue playfully and his lips ghost over the nape of her neck, causing her naked body to shudder.

She wriggles back into him, grinning at the little groan that he emits but releases a gasp of her own when his fingers pluck at her nipple. "Mmm…what if the instructor has a good reason for being late?"

"And that would be?" He twists her around to face him, and she traces the defined line of his jaw before claiming his lips with hers.

"Maybe he was making love to his girlfriend…"

Peeta laughs against her mouth, stroking her side languidly with his fingertips. "What if I were to tell you that he can do that after class in the employee sauna? Monday mornings are pretty quiet, so if you can be, too—"

She kisses him soundly and throws back the sheets, leaping from the bed. "Done."

* * *

_I am still not on tumblr, but I welcome PMs, and like my lovely gals that **are** on tumblr, I will accept requests for drabbles and FFFs that street is always gracious enough to post for me. I'm in the middle of LLS submissions and have two bday gifts on my docket, but send away...the worst thing I can do is say no, right? ;) _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note-**So this was my contribution to Prompts in Panem (PiP) for Day 6, Sloth. It was a grueling trip back to the Spin!Universe, but much like going to the gym, it feels good now that it's done, haha**.**_

_Thank you to ILoVeRynMar, Streetlightlove, Pookieh and HGRomance who all preread and swooned over Spin!Peeta and pushed me like good fanfic trainers should. _

_Thanks to Jessa (misshoneywell) and Shannon (nmoreblack) for a phenomenal week of amazing stories. I still owe lots of talented authors reviews._

_And a HUGE thank you to RoNordmann for the AWESOME cover/banner. Yum. _

_Rated M for…yeah, you know. Enjoy!_

* * *

The shrill shriek of the alarm startles Katniss out of a perfectly pleasant sleep, and it's not until she feels the soft fluttering of his lips on her bare shoulder that she dares lift her head from the pillow to open one sleep-crusted eye at him.

"Are you getting up with me this morning?" His mouth moves down the back of her arm, feathering light kisses across her cool skin, and she mumbles an incoherent reply into the pillow as she extends her torso and raises her rear end while she stretches. "Hmm?" His lips are suddenly on her ear, his tongue darting out to trace the innermost shell, his hot breath sending pleasant tremors through her lethargic body.

Sighing, she twists her body and shifts onto her back, fully opening her eyes to meet the brilliant blue eyes of her boyfriend. "I said I don't think so." She rests her palm on Peeta's sculpted bicep and rubs the defined muscles of his arm slowly. She feels a little guilty at the flicker that immediately appears in those hypnotic orbs.

"You haven't come to one of my classes for a few weeks now," he says, pouting playfully, but she thinks she hears a tint of genuine disappointment coloring his voice. She reaches up and cups his cheek tenderly, and the stubble flecking his jaw scratches her palm as he nuzzles it.

"I didn't realize you liked having me in your class so much," she purrs softly. He smiles down at her and purses his lips before descending on her mouth.

"Please. Do you have any idea how much you motivate me?" His lips move to the hollow of her throat and one palm covers her breast and fondles it, earning a contended sigh to fall from her parted lips. "There's nothing better than being in the front of the room, looking out onto that sea of sweaty students and seeing my incredibly sexy girlfriend effortlessly pedaling away with her skin glistening while I imagine all the different ways I'm going to fuck her later that night."

Katniss moans, the rough passion in his tone sending a flood of wet heat between her legs. "See, that's the problem, Peeta." She chokes on another moan when Peeta's tongue drags along the curve of her collarbone then winds a path across her breast before rolling around her nipple. "It's kind of hard—"

He grabs her hand and thrusts it over his erection. "No, it's very hard," he growls, and she giggles, gripping him firmly.

"Okay, it's _very_ hard to get motivated to get out of a warm comfy bed at the ass crack of dawn every Monday when my _incredibly sexy_ boyfriend gives me such a good workout right at home."

His hand stills on her breast and the other one comes up to caress her cheek, his knuckles gently brushing her jaw, his demeanor visibly altered. "Did you just call my bed 'home'?"

She flushes and her heart stutters. Did she? Her pulse is suddenly galloping through her veins, as restless as a wild horse, and her mouth goes dry.

In the four months she and Peeta have been dating, things have been perfect—a little too perfect, actually. They slipped into domestic bliss so easily, so naturally that it shocked her. She spends most nights in his bed, having stashed the usual spare set of pajamas and necessary toiletries in his bathroom, and the other evenings he crashes at her place.

But last week when they were making dinner in her apartment—okay, _Peeta_ was making dinner and she was stirring the béchamel sauce with a wooden spoon, trying to be helpful—he had stunned her by casually mentioning living together. It had been a brief conversation, and she wasn't entirely certain he was serious, but ever since, the thought had taken root in her conscious mind, and it's germinated, winding around her insecurities like an insidious vine.

The cynic in her is just waiting for something or someone—okay, herself—to sabotage their idyllic courtship. Katniss has never been good at relationships. She loves fiercely and intensely, and thus she is wary of letting anyone get too close, lest she get burned if she falls first. It terrifies her that she can already see herself with his ring on her finger, with his children growing inside her, creating a life together. And so that same seed of self-doubt that made her question Peeta's interest in her when she first laid eyes on him in his spin studio lies dormant beneath the surface, waiting to sprout anew. She can't help but wonder why a self-assured, handsome, ambitious guy like Peeta even wants to be with an altogether average girl like her.

And then there are the looks of disbelief from Peeta's coworkers and the other women who are regulars in the class whenever she walks into the gym. She senses the whispers behind her back when she leaves the studio, Peeta's fingers laced through hers. She should revel in the pride of being on his arm, knowing she is the one he goes home with and makes love to nearly every night. Instead, the looks and the whispers only fuel her insecurity that Peeta will come to his senses and realize that yes, he can do much better. After all, it has only been fourmonths. There's still plenty of time for him to change his mind about her—about them.

"I need to get up and get going," he murmurs, nipping at the skin below her jaw, and she's relieved that as he did the other day, he lets the cohabitating matter drop without another word. "Are you sure you don't want to join me this morning?"

"Maybe Thursday afternoon," she replies, pulling the sheet up over her bare breasts when he rolls off the bed and crosses the bedroom. "Someone tired me out last night." Her eyes linger on his rounded, taut ass and the strong muscles of his upper thighs. He turns and smirks at her cheekily when he catches her ogling him. Her vision wanders to the prominent V-shape defining his pelvic muscles and she clenches her legs together to alleviate some of the mild tension building as she gawks at his hard-on.

"You'll use the spare key I keep by the front door?" he asks as he tugs a pair of bike shorts on over his fitted boxer briefs, adjusting the bulge in the crotch from his deflating erection. She nods and sits up, the sheet falling to her waist, exposing her breasts to him, and she lazily brings her arms above her head. His gaze is hungry when he pulls his fitted Under Armour tee over his head, and he is by her side in seconds again, tugging the sheet back up over her chest. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart. Listen, I have my last training session at seven. Can you wait to eat until eight? I'll grab something and come to your place."

"You cooked for me last night. So how about I pick something up and have it ready for you. Thai good?"

"Sounds perfect."

Once he's kissed her goodbye and left the apartment, she burrows back down under the sheets and only feels a little guilty for her laziness, sleeping two more hours in his bed before showering and leaving for work, remembering to slip the spare key back under the door once she's locked up.

* * *

It's not an alarm that rouses Katniss Tuesday morning; it's Peeta's tongue. At the first hot jolt between her thighs, her eyes fly open, struggling to focus on the mussed blond curls and the wicked grin as her resting heartbeat spikes and the delicious tightening furls in her belly. Within minutes, he has her falling apart, crying his name so loudly that she's sure the neighbors will be pounding on her door or calling the cops. As the tendrils of bliss meander through her body, Peeta crawls up her body and captures her lips, the lingering taste of her own arousal on his tongue.

"That was some wake up call," she muses, kneading his shoulder muscles as he litters her neck with gentle bites.

"I couldn't leave without saying a proper goodbye," he replies, pressing one last kiss to her mouth as he climbs off her and searches the floor for the clothes that she so impatiently stripped off him last night.

She raises herself onto her elbows, still feeling boneless from her orgasm, and watches him step into his jeans, easing them over his hips and fastening the button. "You're leaving this early?"

He nods. "I'm going to head to the gym and lift for a bit before I head to class." As he pulls his shirt on over his bare chest, he looks at her expectantly. "Did you want to come with me?"

She throws back the sheet fully and rises from the bed, sauntering toward him. "I just came. Isn't it your turn?"

"Very cute," he snickers, drawing her to him and cupping her ass. "I'm serious, Katniss. Why don't you come along? You could spot for me and I could show you a few easy machines that you could start using."

She hesitates. The benefit of going with him is she could spend an hour admiring her boyfriend's perfect body, watching the cords in his muscles tense and contract.

But when she considers that she's never lifted a weight in her life or sat on one of those contraptions that resemble a medieval torture device, her insecurity mounts. Spinning came surprisingly easy to her, but she fears looking like a complete fool and embarrassing herself in front of Peeta—and in turn, embarrassing him in front of others. Besides, this morning her muscles ache more than usual and her groin is completely sore from the very enthusiastic sex they had on her couch after they had polished off their take-out and a bottle of Riesling.

"Another morning." She rises on her toes and presses a kiss to his chin before tipping it down to claim his mouth fully. "I should go in to work early myself and get some paperwork done. It's been piling up." Not entirely untrue.

"Okay, then." Peeta gives her a quick kiss and releases her, checking his pocket for his car keys and quirking his lips at her. She leans against the wall outside her bedroom and wiggles her fingers at him as he leaves.

She crawls back under her covers and it's her own damn fault when she drifts off and winds up oversleeping, making her forty-five minutes late for work.

* * *

Thursday is not the best of days. Katniss has to make two different home visits and neither one goes particularly well. By the time she gets back to her office and begins updating the case files, the afternoon quickly slips away from her and it's four o'clock before she even glances at the clock. Her back hurts, her eyes are strained, and she wants nothing more than to draw a hot bath and let the steaming water comfort her aching body.

When the text from Peeta comes in, she cringes as she reads his words, which are hopeful even on the iPhone's screen.

_Peeta: Am I going to be making you sweat this afternoon? ;)_

She sighs and picks up the phone. He answers immediately, and the expectant edge to his greeting exacerbates her shame. Her fingers toy with the stapler on her desk as she relates the details of her lousy morning and even worse afternoon and hesitantly tells him that she's not going to make it to spin. She tries to lessen the blow by lowering her voice and suggesting that she can clean off his sweat if he joins her in her bathtub after he finishes up at the gym, but her stomach flips nervously at the discontent she thinks she hears in his tone when he replies that he'll call her when he's done with his class.

She's a tautly strung quiver when she finally leaves her office at quarter after five, drives home and reheats the leftover Chicken Milanese that Peeta had made them last night. Her eyes flit to her phone for the better part of the next hour, her anxiety mounting again as it nears 6:30. He couldn't be angry with her—could he?

By ten minutes to seven, her phone is still silent. She sheds her clothes, winds her hair into a bun and when the bubbling, perfumed water nears the top of the tub, she steps in and sinks down almost beneath the surface, closing her eyes as she struggles not to panic. Didn't she know she'd fuck this up sooner or later? Why didn't she just suck it up and go to the class—if for anything, for him?

A quiet knock on the apartment door sends her lurching upright in the warm water, sloshing suds over the edge, and she yanks her towel off the bar, hastily wraps it around her and rushes to the door, her heart flooding with relief as she peers out of the peep hole and is met with those impossibly blue eyes. She throws open the door and leads him inside, snaking her arms around his neck and drawing his mouth down to hers. He laughs quietly against her lips, sets down his bag, and unravels her towel. Katniss eyes the bag and the corners of her mouth lift optimistically.

"Does this mean you're staying here tonight?" she asks, motioning to the bag, which she now sees is not his gym bag but his overnight tote.

Peeta nods slowly, his gaze predatory as he licks his lips, and her pulse quickens when one strong arm sweeps under her knees and he hauls her naked body into his arms, the dripping bathwater from her skin soaking into his t-shirt and shorts.

"There's chicken left from last night," she murmurs against his neck, her stomach tightening in anticipation when he moves purposefully towards the bathroom.

"Not hungry," he growls. "Not for food anyway."

She grins and soon he's as naked as she is, and he has her cradled flush against him in the tub, bubbles engulfing them, his palms kneading her breasts and his lips ravaging her neck.

She swears to herself that Monday morning, she'll be back on that fucking spin bike.

* * *

Sunday night, her body decides it has other ideas. She and Peeta are entwined on his couch, her legs sandwiched between his as she idly scratches the back of his neck. Her other hand migrates to his groin and begins gently squeezing his flaccid cock through his shorts, and she is about to sink to her knees and free his erection when her stomach pitches and a fierce wave of nausea crests through it. Peeta glances at her in alarm as she stumbles to her feet and barely reaches the bathroom before gagging and expelling her dinner into the toilet.

Twenty minutes later, he's stroking her damp hair and dabbing a cool washcloth on her forehead as she trembles violently. He carries her to his bed, and she spends the rest of the evening through the early morning alternating between feverish sweats and intense chills. Peeta calls her out of work, arranges for someone to take his Monday morning class and cancels his two personal training sessions. He spends the day tending to her, though she is only semi-conscious enough to appreciate his kindness.

It takes forty-eight hours for the vicious flu bug to leave her system and for her to be able to even keep down the chicken broth that Peeta coaxes her to eat to begin to get her strength back. She finally feels up to returning to work on Wednesday, and by Thursday afternoon, she manages to throw on her workout attire and drive to the gym, even though her body still feels sluggish.

There are only two tickets left for Peeta's class when she arrives, and as she walks towards the spin studio, she spies him in the hall outside the room, engaged in conversation with a lithe, busty blonde who is a little too animated in her talk and much too free with her hands. Katniss narrows her eyes as she watches the bimbo throw her head back in laughter and place her manicured hand on Peeta's forearm. Immediately, the jealous girlfriend in her emerges. She quickens her pace and reaches his side in a few seconds flat.

"Hey," Peeta greets her warmly, and she grins inwardly in triumph as the blonde's face contorts in irritation at the disruption. Katniss seizes the opportunity to place her palm possessively on Peeta's left pectoral muscle, and she slants her mouth over his for a sensual kiss, her tongue teasing his briefly. He releases her, his blue eyes darkening imperceptibly as the blonde huffs into the studio, leaving them alone outside the door. "What are you doing here?" he asks, cupping her cheek, concern apparent in his expression.

"Um…letting my boyfriend give me a workout," she replies, smiling as his thumb rubs at her jaw tenderly. "And for a change, not the naked kind," she adds.

"Katniss, you're getting over the flu. There's no way rigorous cardiac activity is a good idea."

She pouts and steps closer to him. "But I promised you—"

He presses a finger firmly to her lips. "I think I can wait a little longer to get you back on a spin bike. Besides, you need to save your energy for me. Not being with you these past four days has felt like four months." His teeth graze her earlobe and he murmurs, "So your place or mine tonight?"

She splays a hand over his muscular back and cuts her eyes at two women who gawk at Peeta and give her a suspicious glance as they approach the studio. "Mine," she says thickly, clutching his bicep with her other hand. "Definitely mine."

* * *

Fridays have come to be Katniss's least favorite day of the week because since Peeta began his sports medicine doctoral program at Temple a few weeks ago he spends much of Friday at the clinic where he will be doing his residency and then heads right to the gym for several personal training sessions. But his eight o'clock is perpetually late, so often by the time Katniss gets to see him, it's usually after ten and he's drained. Last Friday, he was too tired to do much beyond fall asleep in her lap in front of the television.

Today she shoots him a text at lunch, asking if she can treat him to dinner that evening, and when his reply comes through, she can't suppress the dejection that courses through her.

_Peeta: my 8pm canceled on me but another client wants to make up a session from earlier in the week. I havent sat down once today and think im just gonna head home after I lock up the gym. can we make a date for tomorrow night? _

Disappointed, she reluctantly agrees and shoves her phone back in her bag.

But when she finishes up work at five, she decides she can at least surprise him to grab something to eat together at the little café in the gym before his first client at six. She pulls into the parking lot and gives a little wave to the girl at the desk as she enters. The girl—who has the ridiculous name of Cashmere (which is a fucking fabric, not a name) and who Katniss suspects, like every other woman at the place, has her eye on Peeta—calls out to her. "Are you looking for Peeta?"

Katniss turns and meets the blonde's smug expression. "Um, yeah, I am."

"He's got a class."

Katniss arches a brow at the girl and then narrows her eyes. "No, he has a few personal training sessions tonight. I thought I'd surprise him before he gets started."

"No," she smirks back, "he has a class. He's filling in for Cato, who took _his_ class the other day when Peeta called out." Cashmere motions to the clock. "It's the four-thirty, so you can either wait for him or I can tell him you stopped by."

_Sure you will, _she thinks darkly."Thanks, I'll wait," she replies, stalking off towards the spin studio. As she settles on the bench outside the darkened room, she can hear Peeta's confident timbre rising over Kurt Cobain's ragged snarls. She fiddles with the hem of her skirt and tries not to let her self-doubt propel her towards the exit. _Why didn't he tell me about the make up class? _ She was the reason he had to make arrangements for a substitute for his Monday morning class; knowing Peeta, he probably didn't want her feeling badly about it. Having to sub on his most exhausting day because of her certainly raises more guilt in her.

When she hears Peeta announce the cool down and people start to filter out of the studio, she stands, feeling ridiculously overdressed in her silk blouse and her grey pencil skirt and her heels among the lycra-and-cotton attired gym rats. As she sidles into the doorway, her fingers instinctively tighten, her nails cutting crescent grooves into her palm.

Peeta leans against his spin bike, his blond hair matted with perspiration, his muscled arms crossed in front of his chest, and the lazy, sexy smile she loves so much is directed at a petite brunette with killer abs and tits twice as big as hers. Katniss's spine stiffens, and her throat constricts as Peeta laughs and the girl subtly arches her back towards him. The lusty look in the girl's eyes is so obvious that Katniss finds her own gaze riveted to Peeta. How can he not see that this little slut is clearly hitting on him? And then her stomach plunges in a free fall—_what if he's enjoying it?_ He sure looks to be flirting right back. Is this why he didn't tell her about the make up class? What if he just didn't want her here today?

Her mind reels back to yesterday when she arrived for his class, intending to spin, and he was chatting amiably with that hot blonde. He had told her it wasn't a good idea for her to work out on account of her recent bout with that stomach bug, but he sure hadn't held back last night when he fucked her against the tiny island in her kitchen and then again in her bed just before they fell asleep. Her cheeks flush at the memory of how powerfully he drove into her, how hard he made her come—three times.

Paranoia supplants her jealousy, and she spins on her heel to flee. She's halfway up the corridor when she hears his honeyed voice calling her name. Though it's childish, she doesn't turn around, and she hears him call her name again more desperately as the automatic doors glide open and she rushes to her car.

She lays her head down on the steering wheel and takes a deep draw of oxygen, but the ache in her lungs makes it difficult to use the breath to cleanse herself. Part of her waits for a tap on the window, his handsome face on the other side of the glass, but it never comes. After a while, she slumps down in her seat and tries to collect her frantic thoughts. The last time she ran off like this had been the night that he had confessed his attraction to her. She had been jealous of that redhead talking to Peeta then too.

Her veins crackle as she remembers the carnal look in Peeta's eyes when she had returned for her keys and he had advanced upon her, dangling them teasingly in front of her before he had kissed her for the first time. It was the same look he had given her last night when he had come over after his class. It's the same look he always gives her before they make love.

For all the women she's seen eye-fucking him and fawning all over him and throwing themselves at him, she's never seen that wanton flicker of lust in those blue irises directed at anyone other than her.

How could she ever think about questioning him?

Invigorated, she pops the trunk and grabs the spare gym bag that she keeps there and hops out of the car and strides back towards the entrance. Scanning her membership ID, she ignores the accusatory glare from Cashmere as she heads downstairs to the locker rooms, changes quickly, snaps her hair into a ponytail and stalks to the open, expansive space that houses the machines—and where the personal training sessions are held.

Her eyes roam the vast area until they land on the mop of blond waves, and she sees Peeta leaning over a shapely brunette who must be at least twice his age. Katniss studies him as he guides the woman through a series of abdominal crunches, his smile warm and encouraging. She waits patiently until Peeta glances up and meets her gaze, his face registering surprise first, but when Katniss gives him a coy smile and struts to the treadmill nearest to him he shakes his head at her.

She sets the machine to a low speed and begins to walk leisurely, keeping her eyes trained on the televisions and avoiding sneaking occasional peeks at Peeta. At least forty minutes must pass before she allows herself to glance over. He appears to be finishing up with the woman, who bats her eyelashes at him and extends her hand. Peeta shakes it politely, and Katniss punches the treadmill controls, letting the belt slow, and she hops off. She hastily cleans the machine and saunters towards where he stands but then continues walking past him to one of the leg presses. It looks harmless enough and should suffice for what she has in mind.

She keeps her eyes locked on Peeta's as she adjusts the weights and takes a seat. As she begins to tense her thighs, she repeatedly squeezes and contracts them as she sets a rhythm with the apparatus. Arching her back, she thrusts out her chest and suppresses a grin when Peeta's chest swells and he begins to move towards her. But he doesn't make it more than a few feet when a slightly chubby blonde girl bounces in front of him and Katniss watches his face fall. Apparently, his next client is early.

Peeta eyes her over the girl's head, and Katniss pouts at him as she stands and raises her leg, bending her knee and placing her foot on the bench to stretch her calf muscles slightly. She teasingly rubs the pads of her fingers over them and does a couple of lunges before she moves on to some kind of leg lift. She sits down and hooks her ankles over the padded bar near the floor.

"You put your feet underneath," an unfamiliar voice says from her left.

She looks up. A tall, muscular guy with hair just a few shades darker than Peeta's smiles down at her. She grimaces and shifts her feet so the bar touches the tops of her sneakers and then straightens her legs, bracing the muscles as she lifts. The guy's grin broadens and he nods his approval. "Just like that. Good."

"Um, thanks," she says, and she waits for him to walk off. But he claims the machine next to her and adjusts the pin in the weight bars several notches down. He lies down and angles his face towards her and grins again. She gives him a polite smile in return and then searches the floor for Peeta. She finds him beside the blonde girl as she struggles with squats. He doesn't look up.

"I take it you're not a regular or you're new here?"

Katniss stares at the guy next to her, wrinkling her nose. "Um, not new. I just don't use the machines that much."

The guy smirks. "I could tell. But you're doing great so far."

As he continues to talk, Katniss doesn't bother to listen as she tries in vain to command Peeta's attention, but this time, he is focused on his client, and as Katniss rises from the bench, there's a good burn in her tired muscles and she decides she's had enough.

She makes her way out of the maze of machines and passes Peeta, and she frowns at the sight of his hands on the pudgy girl's hips as he demonstrates another series of squats. He finally glances up and flashes her that lazy, sexy smile and she gets an idea. Licking her lips, she turns her head, ponytail swishing and as she runs up the stairs, she darts into the women's locker room, retrieves her bag from the locker she uses, and makes her way towards the offices in the front of the gym. The narrow corridor beyond the front desk appears deserted; most of the classes have long since ended, so few instructors remain at this hour. She waits until the blonde at the entrance is engaged in an article in the _Cosmopolitan_ magazine open on the counter and walks briskly down the dim hallway.

Peering over her shoulder, she slips through the door marked 'Employees' Locker Room' and is relieved to find it empty. She strips off her damp sports bra and leggings and stuffs them back into her gym bag, then pulls out her work clothes and heels. Smiling surreptitiously, she opens Peeta's locker and sees his street clothes hanging neatly from the hooks. She shoves them into her own gym bag and reaches up to let her lacy bra dangle from the hook. With another wicked smirk to herself and a thrill lancing down her spine, she balances her panties over the locker's narrow handle and creates a trail to the sauna with her blouse and skirt and heels.

The hazy steam causes her to blink several times as she steps inside the sauna. The heat raises dewy beads instantaneously on her naked skin, and she closes her eyes and leans back against the wall to wait.

Some time later, when her body is feeling deliciously light and she's pretty sure she's nodded off once or twice from the tranquil solitude, she hears a slight creak and her name cuts through the heated fog in a suggestive whisper. She opens her eyes and her body tenses as Peeta emerges from the mist, a white towel slung low on his defined hipbones. She sees his chest inflate and his eyes darken.

"You're overdressed," she chides, rising off the bench. Her fingers reach for his waist, but his hand clamps around her narrow wrist and grips it tightly.

"You are going to be the death of me," he says roughly.

"Me?"

"Yes, you." He tosses something onto the bench and then his other hand splays over her spine and coaxes her closer to him. "You have no idea the effect you have on me. From the minute I saw you on that treadmill, you were all I could think about. And then you went and had to start using that leg press."

"Did you like that?" she whispers.

"Fuck yes," he growls. "But I imagined those legs of yours were wrapped around my waist, squeezing me tight, and my cock was thrusting in and out of you, making you scream my name. I'm sure both my clients tonight had their shittiest trainings in weeks because I was so distracted."

"Hmmm." She levers up on her toes and grazes her lips along the curve just beneath his strong jaw. "I'm pretty sure your clients are always equally distracted given the way they were looking at you." He stares at her for several expectant moments.

"Are you jealous, Katniss?" He leans down and the voracious gleam in his eyes steals her ability to think clearly, leaving her only capable of a meek nod. "Is that why you didn't stop when I called your name earlier tonight?" She shrugs, suddenly embarrassed by how foolish she acted. "Is that why you came back to give me that little show?"

She bites her lip and nods again. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding your spin class and putting off working out with you. I've been a bad girlfriend." She gasps and her eyes flutter closed as he flings his towel to the floor and presses his stiffened cock against her abdomen. "I'm…" She swallows her words as his mouth moves to the slope of her neck and starts suckling the sweaty skin there.

"Shhh. I accept your apology," he mumbles, his tongue licking a path along her collarbone. "You know you have nothing to worry about though," he whispers, rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones tenderly. "I'm not an idiot, Katniss. I've had women throwing themselves at me since I first started working here in college. But you, you're the first woman—the only woman—who I've ever given a second glance to. The only one I've fucked in supply closets and shower stalls and about a half-dozen other places around here that could probably get me fired."

She shivers with pleasure in spite of the heat. "I know. I trust you, Peeta."

"Good. Because I hope I've never given you a reason to doubt me." He brushes his lips below her ear lobe and exhales, grinning when her body twitches as another frisson of desire curls through her. "But while we are on the subject, how do you think I liked it when that guy started talking to you by the leg lift?"

"That guy was just showing me how to use the machine the right way."

Peeta chuckles and strokes her ponytail, playing with the fringe of hair at the bottom. "Didn't I tell you that you have no idea the effect you can have? He was hitting on you, Katniss."

Her heart hiccoughs, and she gapes at him. "Were _you_ jealous, Peeta?"

"At first." He pauses. "But you see, I like that other men want what they can't have—what _I_ have and get to have every night. You're mine, Katniss. You've never given _me_ a reason to doubt _you_." He kisses her softly before his blue eyes become molten and her abdomen tightens in anticipation. "And little envy never hurt anyone."

She steps back and narrows her eyes as she wraps her fingers around his swollen cock and squeezes, a growl erupting from his throat. "I still might have to stake my claim on you." His fingers dig into her scalp as she slinks down his naked torso and sheathes her mouth around his shaft.

"Oh, fuck, Katniss," he moans as she crouches before him and encourages him to thrust in and out of her mouth. His other hand tugs on her ponytail while she alternates swirling her tongue around his head and laving it up and down. She sucks vigorously, keeping a good pace, and soon his hips start to falter in their steady gyrations and he yanks her hair harder, causing him to slip from her lips. His eyes are glassy as he stares down at her. "I don't want to come yet. And if you don't stop now, I'm going to."

She runs her tongue around the tip of his cock once more and then stands back up, kissing him feverishly. His mouth matches her movements and their tongues mate heatedly, Peeta taking the initiative to draw hers between his teeth. His hands find purchase on her hips and he walks her backwards to the sauna bench, spinning her around so she faces him as he sinks down to a seated position and she scrambles into his lap, hovering just over his thick cock. "This—" She reaches down and grabs it. "—is mine," she purrs, angling it up to rub through the wet heat between her legs, moaning appreciatively when he comes in contact with her throbbing clit.

"Katniss," he hisses as she places her hands on his broad shoulders and descends on him, feeling the delicious stretch as he fills her completely, and she tosses her head back, lacing both their hands together as she starts to undulate her pelvis. Peeta moans when she rises and falls repeatedly, but he freezes inside her and his eyes fill with uncertainty, cutting to the corner of the bench. "The condom. I tossed one over there when I—"

"No condom," she whispers, pinning him with her gaze. "Do you trust me?" He nods, the blue pools shining anew with lust. "Good, cause I don't want anything between us anymore. I want to feel all of what's mine."

"You're fucking unreal."

"And you're_ mine_," she repeats, rolling her hips. He smiles lazily at her and resumes his own thrusts as she slants her mouth over his and flattens her breasts against his slick chest. He kisses her back with equal passion, surging up into her again and again. Placing one hand on the small of her back, he arcs her breasts up to his waiting mouth, and she keens quietly when his lips capture one nipple, flicking his tongue back and forth over the tight bud. His other hand slithers down her stomach and his fingers curl over her clit, and she bucks into his touch. His teeth tug at her nipple, and when he releases it from his mouth, he exhales slowly and deliberately; the air from his mouth is cooler than the sultry heat of the sauna, and she shudders from the contrasting sensations. Beads of sweat stipple both their skin, and Peeta's curls fall limply across his forehead.

He drags his tongue along the swells of her breasts. "This goes both ways, you know. These are mine, Katniss…and this is mine too," he growls, pressing his thumb forcefully against her clit and juts his hips up, plunging deeper into her. "And your pussy is mine…every…fucking…inch of you…is… mine." She whimpers and begins rocking more insistently, screwing her eyes shut as the intense pleasure builds in her core. Peeta's thrusts become more sporadic, and she can tell he's struggling to keep from losing control. His fingers start circling her clit more frantically, and his name falls from her lips. "That's my girl," he murmurs. "Come for me."

"No, Peeta, come _with _me," she pleads, gasping for air to soothe her searing lungs. He groans and with a few final jerks, he spills himself inside her just as her walls constrict and clench him greedily.

"Oh, fucking hell." He slumps back against the sauna wall, pulling her down to tighten his embrace on her as he finishes twitching and finally stills within her. Her chest heaves against his, and she feels the rapid staccato of both their heartbeats as their bodies attempt to regain control after their orgasms. That delicious weightlessness has returned, and she utters a meek protest when he stands and her feet find the floor as he eases her off him. His mouth covers hers and lures her into a sensual kiss. "Are you coming home with me after I lock up?" he whispers. "Cause I'm not through with you."

She drags her thumb over the curve of his lower lip, swollen from their incessant kissing. "We should probably talk about that, shouldn't we?"

"Talk about…?"

She smiles coyly. "Whose place we're going to be calling home."

* * *

_One year later…_

"Is this bike taken?"

Katniss glances up from where she is adjusting the handlebars of her spin bike to find a moderately attractive, dark-haired guy grinning at her, a towel slung over his shoulder, water bottle in hand. She shrugs. "I don't think so." She tugs on the bars to ensure they're locked to her satisfaction and steps to the side to change the setting for her seat.

The guy tosses his towel over the bars of the adjacent bike and places his water bottle in the holder, and Katniss senses his gaze on her as she fiddles with the seat. "I've never done this before," he says. "Maybe you could show me what you're doing with your bike." He thrusts out his hand. "I'm Marvel."

Is his fucking serious? He's bold, that's for sure. "Ah…Katniss." She shakes his hand tentatively just as Peeta walks into the studio. His eyes meet hers, and she gives him a knowing smile as he tosses his bag to the ground and sets his iPod on his bike. He shakes his head at her and his lips quirk as he watches her finish turning the seat lock.

The guy—Marvel—clears his throat. "So about my bike?"

Katniss breaks eye contact with Peeta and glances at Marvel her again. "I'm sorry?"

"My bike. You seem to know what you're doing so maybe you could take pity on a newbie?" He arches a brow at her and gives her another leering grin.

"Oh…I—" she begins.

"Did you need some help?"

Katniss pivots and finds Peeta standing in front of both bikes, his bright blue eyes a dark navy, and her breath hitches at the dangerous gleam in his eyes. "I'm good," she answers him confidently then gestures to Marvel. "But he's new and could use your expertise in adjusting his bike." She climbs onto her own bike and slips her feet into the pedals. "Peeta is the best. He'll help you." The guy's hopeful expression drops and Katniss hides a smile as Peeta guides him through the best handlebar and seat settings for his height.

She's just settled onto her own seat when she feels Peeta's breath tickle her ear. "Was this asshole hitting on you?"

Her lips curve into a sly smile. "I think he was trying."

Peeta's mouth barely grazes her lobe. "Too bad for him that you're taken, hmm?" He gently twists the diamond solitaire on her ring finger, repositioning it back to the center of the digit, and then reaches down to crank the dial on her resistance, removing most of the tension she had begun to load on. "Don't overdo it tonight, sweetheart, because I'm going to fuck you so hard when we get home."

Her smile stretches. "That's if we even make it home."


End file.
